


The predators' cage

by luemeldane



Series: The Tales Of The Bunny And The Fox [3]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self-Reflection, Slow Burn, bill's POV, changing relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 22:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luemeldane/pseuds/luemeldane
Summary: Bill had never felt so glad to be giving a lecture. It kept odd thoughts at bay and was rock solid ground. He must have done this a million times, he knew every step of the way - as long as Holden spared him and the audience of his revolutionary ideas, that is. It was a safe zone and he needed it very much, after the previous events. The arguments with Holden were tiresome. The boy was very tenacious and just wouldn’t back down of anything once he had set his mind to it, no matter how senseless it seemed to the rest of the world. Also, his ideas and attitude stirred things up inside of Bill that he would much prefer to keep still.





	The predators' cage

**Author's Note:**

> I am ON FIRE! I have never wrote this much in such a short time span. I just cannot help myself! 
> 
> Again, this is very slow. I have set my mind on accompanying the developments of each episode so NOTHING goes past me. Which means that this one will follow up the events from the beginning of the second episode to the middle of it. 
> 
> There is no romance in this yet, but it reveals just how much Bill's being affected by the time he spends with Holden. If you squint, there's a part where you can sense some unrecognized jealousy too. The next one, which will cover the second half of the same episode, is going to feature one of my favorite moments of this 'couple' and will be the proper start of the romance, even if it will keep going slow. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! And as all of my fictions, this is not beta-ed. Please, let me know if you find any mistakes.

_Bill had accepted the fact that he would never be able to predict what would be coming out of Holden’s mouth. He had also thought that none of it would surprise him anymore. He was prepared for anything, he reassured himself with a quite bold and confident mental voice._

  _That predicament had lasted a few hours, tops._

 

\---x---

 

“Just, hey, do me a favor. Don't ever fucking mention this to me ever again.” Bill pleaded as he put out his cigarette on the plane’s ashtray with way more violence than really needed.

“Well, I'm going to.” Holden stated lightly but with determination, not bothering to fake a tone of deference towards his superior anymore. By that point, he had probably realized that the old man would bitch and grunt about whatever he said, but he would listen ( _really_ listen) anyway. And that knowledge was making him get all comfy, the smug bastard.

“Cause it's the insanest idea I've ever heard.” He continued his line of thought as if the other hadn’t said anything.

“Well, I'm going to, Bill.” The boy repeated for good measure, turning his body a little towards Bill’s and joining his fingers over the armrest, assuming a very saucy posture and non-verbally communicating that there was nothing the other Agent could do about it, fuck him very much.  Bill liked the kid better when he had been seeking Bill’s approval instead of challenging his authority…

“We have a job to do. We are here to teach.” He tried to appeal to reason, despite knowing that Holden did not possess such a thing.

“Chino, California Medical, California Men's Colony, Norco, Soledad, San Quentin…” He began to list, not losing the petulant tone.

“If you'd said to me, ‘Bill, I want to become a Beach Boy, take up surfing, sit around smoking the vibes.’” Bill cut in, speaking in rather dreamily manner. Dreaming was for free, anyway.

“Folsom.” The boy continued the list, completely ignoring Bill’s fantasy description. But the way he tilted his chin up and clearly suppressed a smile that was threatening to bend the corner of his lips gave away the fact that he was actually having fun with their tug of war. Unnerving.

“Or, ‘I want to make it in the movies. Gonna get me a walk-up in West Hollywood and a Pekingese.’” Two could play the game and the flicker of impatience that crossed the boy’s face tasted like victory.

“Manson is 30 miles away in Vacaville.” He said, going back to the original track of their conversation and using a rather soft tone of voice, as if he could sweet-talk Bill into agreeing with such a ludicrous idea.

“A hop, skip, and a jump.” Bill mocked, unable to do anything but. “You really wanna meet Charlie Manson?”

“Why not?” He asked, exasperated. Agent Tech was not inclined to ‘academicities’, but he felt like he could write a whole dissertation and then some more in response to that simple question.   

“Swing by and say hi.” Because really, what else the damn kid could hope to say, once he met with such a despicable man? He thanked God for sending the flight attendant to collect their trash, which offered a good distraction to his already exhausted brain. Bill swore that if that conversation didn’t end soon, he was the one who was going to go into a murderous fit and maybe then Holden would get whatever he wanted. “Nobody wants to hear about that crazy motherfucker. You know this.” He said, leaning into Holden’s space aggressively and speaking with a dangerously low voice. If reason didn’t work, maybe he would have to bully the other into doing things his way. It seemed like it had worked, because the kid stayed silent for a second and looked down with distant eyes. It was a look of defeat. “Besides, when are you gonna find time for these fireside chats, Holden?” Bill felt the sudden urge to bite his tongue off. Asking questions and challenging Holden was a sure fire way to get him going again. The matter had been settled, there was no need to create another spark there. But he just couldn’t help himself, could he?

“I'll figure it out.” Was the dreadful response, accompanied by a confident expression that spoke of major troubles ahead.  

“ _Fuck me._ " Bill thought to himself, giving up for the moment.

 

\---x---

 

“Nobody can talk to Manson. Tom Snyder's been trying to interview him for years.” He pointed out, changing his strategy. If he couldn’t talk the boy out of it, maybe he could discourage him by showing how many obstacles would be in his way. It was unlikely to work, but anything was worth the shot by that point. If he was honest with himself, Bill didn’t want to talk about that subject anymore. However, he felt responsible for defusing the bomb that he had unwittingly set up. The inner conflict within him was generating a considerable amount of anger, which showed clearly in his voice and in the way he almost threw their luggage into the trunk of their rented car.

“We're the Federal Bureau of Investigation. What if his civil rights are being violated?” Was Holden’s earnest response. It just kept getting worse and worse. Now he was talking about calling up the civil rights of Satan’s spawn itself.

“Please just get in the car.” He pleaded, putting his pride aside. He just wanted to avoid sinking even deeper into the swamp of shit that came out of the Holden Ford's mouth.

 

\---x---

 

As they drove towards their next destination, Holden had stayed blissfully silent. When Bill chanced a look his way, he was surprised to find the boy with his eyes closed and face turned against the wind. It was interesting to see such an hyped guy in a moment of quietude. Holden looked a bit older like that, like someone with a heavy burden over his shoulders that found some comfort enjoying a simple thing of life. It felt a bit like a display of vulnerability and Bill was actually glad that despite their bickering, the boy wasn’t too tense around him and still could indulge himself into moments like that. They were partners, after all.

As he let out a way too heavy sigh for someone his age, Holden turned to face Bill. The older man expected the other to close off - it was one thing to be caught in a moment of introspection, but it was entirely different to acknowledge the fact that someone had seen it and still let it show. But he didn’t. The stare he sent Bill’s way was pensive and loaded. There were no shields and no walls whatsoever separating Holden from the world. Nor from Bill.

It lasted only a fraction of a second, though. The older man felt his skin crawl under the intensity and the utter intimacy of the moment and he just couldn’t hold up his gaze, ending up breaking their eye contact almost as soon as it had happened. He took a drag from his cigarette in a casual manner and thanked God that he had his sunglasses on.

 

\---x---

 

“In California every year, 35 percent of murders go unsolved. That's more unsolved murders than in any other state. It's partly due to geography. In the woods, in the mountains, - ravines, hiking trails...” Bill had never felt so glad to be giving a lecture. It kept odd thoughts at bay and was rock solid ground. He must have done this a million times already, he knew every step of the way - as long as Holden spared him and the audience of his revolutionary ideas, that is. It was a safe zone and he needed it very much after the previous events. The arguments with Holden were tiresome. The boy was very tenacious and just wouldn’t back down of anything once he had set his mind to it, no matter how senseless it seemed to the rest of the world. Also, his ideas and attitude stirred things up inside of Bill that he would much prefer to keep still.

Holden made him remember that he had been like that once. Well, not exactly like _that_ , but bold and daring. The world had made him curious and he had been obstinate about finding answers. He had even liked to look for the right questions back then. And most of all, he had wanted to do something about all of the things that he thought about. Now he was beginning to realize that for as much as he praised himself for being different from the rest of the stuck up bastards of the Bureau, for as much as he mocked them and the institution by calling it the Country Club, for as much as he wore ties that were unsuitable to the FBI’s standards, he was just one more in that same crowd. It didn’t matter how much of a conscious effort he made to differ from his peers, it was artificial and forced. It was nothing but a way to stroke his ego and give him an excuse to not admit the harsh truth - that in the core of his being, he had settled for the same things, for the same ideas and for the same comfort zone as everybody else.

Except Holden. He hadn’t settled yet. Bill would bet all of his money in the fact that he never would. He was both unsettled and unsettling by nature. And he  was bound to be by the older agent’s side through the unforeseeable future. If that was a blessing or a curse, Bill just couldn’t be sure.

 

\---x---

 

Bill could see Holden speaking with a man in the far back of the room. Whatever the man was saying to the boy was getting him very excited. He could see the light on his eyes shining brighter than ever before. It caused on him an aggravating feeling of discomfort. He didn’t know if it was because he could already anticipate what kind of subject would be responsible for such a fiery response of it was because someone was actually indulging the other in his preposterous ideas. How dare him, when Bill was going to be the one dealing with the fall out of whatever Holden had gotten into his head this time?

To his utter dissatisfaction, they ended up in a bar with said man and one of his colleagues. Holden was positively beaming during their conversation (which Bill had already figured that was about some crazy killer, how could it not be, really?). The older agent refused to be a part of whatever was going on and excused himself. He wandered around the place, went to the bathroom despite not needing to and when he couldn’t find anything else to do he went back to the stool he had previously occupied. Fortunately, the conversation seemed to be meeting it’s end and Bill felt content enough to stay there while gulping down his beer and smoking a relaxing cigarette.

“When nobody came, he got sick of waiting and decided to turn himself in. Called from a pay phone. Confessed! We thought he was bullshitting. I drove him all the way back. He wouldn't stop yakking. Going into forensic detail. I thought I hit the jackpot. After a few hours, I'm like, ‘Oh, God, please. Enough!’" He listened as the grizzled fat guy concluded the story, feigning complete disinterest in it. For reasons that escaped him, Bill was feeling very peevish about their current situation.

“You think Kemper would talk to us?” He had watched Holden’s demeanor by the corner of his eye, the way he straightened himself up in his seat as if it would improve his hearing - and he surely didn’t want to miss a single detail of the narrative. Bill was certain that this question was coming and he almost smiled as his prediction came true. But he didn’t, though, because he still had a bitter feeling on the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t let him feel anything positive in that moment.

“Try stopping him.” The man said and before Holden could add something more, Bill heard his own voice cutting in.

“Who's ‘us’, kemosabe?” The words that came out of his mouth were filled with annoyance, so much that they almost tipped the borderline into anger. A heavy silence befell over them and it was the first time that the older agent had felt some kind of satisfaction since the conversation had begun, back in his lecture.

 

\---x---

 

Bill looked at the bathroom of their shared motel room for the hundredth time that day. And for the hundredth time, he saw Holden dolling himself up to meet a gruesome killer. It was beyond baffling. It was downright outrageous! He shook his head and sighed loudly.

“What?” The question was more automatic than anything, because the boy was too damn busy making sure that his hair was _perfect_ for his _date_. Bill scowled.

“Really, what are you expecting to learn?” He asked honestly. What the hell Agent Ford could possibly gain from this little adventure?

“A killer who can't stop talking? It's a gift!” He said, but it wasn’t really an answer to the question.

“A gift, huh?” Bill felt his eyebrows raising in his forehead. “He made a severed head perform fellatio on him.” He recalled.  The way Holden’s whole body moved in frustration over his display of simple mindedness would be funny, if it wasn’t enervating. “His third victim was a 15-year-old child, Holden.” He continued and was met with a deadly, impertinent silence. “You don't want to talk?” He chided rather childishly, considering that he didn’t really want to be thinking, let alone talking, about any of this. But he didn’t want to be ignored, either.

“So, basically, you just got me out here to carry your slide projector?” The kid’s tone was firm, but Bill could sense a bit of hurt mixed with the words. He felt guilty, because it had been true in the beginning. Now, he was actually happy to have Holden as his companion. He could admit that the boy was interesting enough and at least he had put an end to the boredom that had filled his Road School trips in the last few months (maybe years). But it didn’t mean that he agreed with every single one of his ideas, especially those of this special brand of madness Holden was so wrapped up about.

“To help with the workload, yeah. The work we're sanctioned to do.” He tried using an euphemism to make it sound a little better. He couldn’t convince even himself.

“Kemper doesn't interest you or is beneath you somehow?” Holden asked, genuinely intrigued. His eyebrows were knitted as he looked Bill through the mirror.

“A little of both.” He answered truthfully.

“Think the tie's too much? What about the suit?” Holden asked suddenly, as if they had never diverted from the ‘how do I look’ topic.

“Anybody finds out you're a fed, there'll be a riot. Shepard finds out you've been interviewing the Coed Killer as a side project, he'll flip his shit.” Bill warned, because really, with his perfectly aligned suit and impeccable hair, Holden just couldn’t look like anything else than an FBI Agent.  

“It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission.” The man pointed out and Bill had to concede that he made a very sound argument right there. Not without some displeasure, though.

“Okay.” He said, finally giving up. It was his time to change his position so he could fully face his partner. “If you're gonna go in, you need to go in stone goddamn cold, take him by surprise, get the fuck out as quick as possible.” If he couldn’t talk Holden out of doing this insanity, he could at least give some advice to help him make as little damage as possible for all the people involved, including himself.

“Good advice.” The kid at least had the decency of acknowledging.

“Straight in there, don't phone, don't give them a chance to ask around.” Bill thanked whatever Gods may be that Holden had no sensibility for superficial nuances, because he was sure that the full effect of his words would be lost by anyone who took notice of his appearance. Despite the incisive posture that he had taken, leaning towards his interlocutor by propping his elbows on his thighs, he was still only wearing a worn out undershirt, his boxer shorts and socks and it didn’t paint an image of sharpness and reliability _per se_.

“‘I'm a buddy of Jim Conor's’” Holden simulated the beginning of a dialogue, way more excited about the whole thing than would be appropriated. Which was a lot, considering that the appropriate measure was none at all.

“‘Jim Conor reached out.’ you bet.” Bill followed and what do you know? He sounded far too excited himself and even his limbs were unconsciously being engaged in the conversation. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, Holden had sucked him up into his mad frenzy.

"’He sends his regards.’"

"’I stopped by the Jury Room for a drink.’"

"’The guys all say... Blah, blah, blah.'"

“Can I call you Big Ed?”

“I wouldn't mention the killings. You're not there because he's a necrophile degenerate. You're there because he's... fascinating.” The last word sounded very malicious as it left Bill’s lip. The thought alone was absurd, but the fact that the older man found himself playing along with this, _all of this_ , was borderline unbelievable.

“How do I not mention the killings?” The boy asked, uncertain about the matter and oblivious to Tench’s inner turmoil.

“Just take it slow.” He began to advise, but as he watched the kid attaching his holstered gun to his belt, he got sidetracked by skepticism. “What are you doing?”

“Just in case.” Holden shrugged dismissively.

“Holden, they're not gonna let you in with a sidearm.” Bill thought that much would be obvious to any rational human being.

“The guy is six foot nine, weighs 300 pounds.” Holden pointed out.

“That's right.” Bill agreed with a hint of amusement.

“So what's he gonna do?” Holden said boldly, signaling to his gun as if it made him invincible. The older agent barely kept himself from laughing at the display of naivety and foolishness. Even if they did let the other man go in with the gun...

“He's gonna take the fucking thing away, kill you with it, and then have sex with your face.” He said matter-of-factly. If Holden really wanted to go through with this idea, he had to be be able to face the harsh reality of things. And if the way he swallowed dry and his brows furrowed apprehensively was any indication, he was getting the first glimpses of it right then and there.

 

\---x---

 

He ended up driving the kid all the way to the prison himself. Even if he wasn’t in agreement with any of that, he could at least do this much to help Holden in his endeavors. He also faintly hoped that somewhere along the way the boy would realize just how insane what he was about to do was and ask Bill to turn around and take him to the golf course instead. No such luck, unfortunately.

“I don't want to spoil your fun.” Holden said as he got out of the car, but there’s no actual sign of embarrassment in his voice.

“I'm good. Nine is fine.” Or as fine as possible, given the circumstances.

“You could come. Take notes.” The boy chanced trying to sound non committal and failing.  

“You take notes, I'll help you write 'em up.” Bill insisted.

“You're really gonna go golfing while I glean profound insights from the Coed Killer?” Holden was trying to set up a trap, that much was clear. He was trying to poke at whatever inquisitiveness was left in Bill’s spirit by using a tone of voice that made it sound like the older agent was going to lose a big, one-time-only chance, and just wasn’t seeing it.

“It's my day off.” Bill stated, unshaken.

“You're gonna be sorry.” Now he was being downright childish,

“No. You're gonna be sorry, Holden, when he decides you're using him and there's nothing in it for good old Ed.” He said, but it was more of a warning than anything else. He tried to ignore it, but the truth was that this had a very good chance to go south and end up in Holden getting hurt.

“I think there is.”

“What?”

“He's going to be part of something instead of rotting inside a cell.”

“Part of what? We're not even here.”

“All right.”

And just like that, the Dumbest of Bunnies walked right into the cage reserved for the worst of the worst predators. And there was nothing Bill could do about it besides watching him go.

 

\---x---

 

Bill enjoyed himself, even if he was playing alone. He really did. But throughout the entirety of match he set against himself, there was a feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach that he hadn't been able to shake off. He found himself wishing that nine o'clock would come sooner.

 

\---x---

 

It was a relief to see Holden walking out of the prison in one piece, more than he would ever admit to anyone, including himself. Oblivious to his superior’s reaction, the kid began to blabber about his meeting with Kemper as soon as he entered the car. Bill didn’t want to hear it, but he knew that not even a force of nature would be able to make him shut his mouth about it. So he listened with proper disgust at just about everything. Holden, on the other hand, seemed to be balancing in a tightrope between wonderment and sickness. The paleness was clear even in his naturally milky skin.

As he explained his insights on the matter, Holden’s expression was aloof. Again, he was talking more to himself than to Bill. There was no traces of excitement in the boy’s voice now. Instead, his tone and expression was worryingly serious. He had the look of someone who had met with something much bigger than anticipated and the older man suspected that it was not Big Ed’s size that had taken him by surprise. Despite the fact that Bill was set into posing a counter argument to anything that came out of his mouth, Holden didn’t seemed deterred in the least.

“Come with me next weekend. See for yourself.” He finally said and it was almost like a plea. He wanted to prove his point, but it wouldn’t be possible if nobody was willing to at least give him a chance.

“No, I'm not gonna do that.” Bill stated, regardless. He had been caught in Holden’s frenzy earlier in the motel room. It was so easy to dwell on that energy, on that vividness he displayed... He had to adequately shield himself from this kind of outbursts, because as much as he envied the youthfulness of both Holden’s body and mind, he wasn’t willing to be swept off his feet by it. He wasn’t ready to be anything more than he already was, anything deeper, nor to step out of the comfort zone he could now admit that he had buried himself into. It was named “comfort” for a reason and Bill very much liked it that way.

“You're just going to play golf?” Holden asked with an incredibly soft voice and this time it was not faked. There was a mix of sadness, frustration and disappointment in it that worked like magic to make Bill uncomfortable. There it was, him being thrown out of the damned zone again. He wondered if there was ever going to be a time when he would be with Holden and the boy wasn’t going to be pushing, pulling and nagging at his resolves. He doubted it.

“It helps me think clearly. You might want to try it.” He said, ending the conversation right there. To protect himself from the threat of Holden’s mind, he always ended up resorting to rudeness. He knew how much it hurt the boy - the fact that he was trying reach out to someone, only to be so violently cut off - but he couldn’t help it. The upset but resigned expression that painted itself all over the boy’s face was worse than if he had shouted out and called Bill out as the coward that he was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feew, one more out here! I hope you have enjoyed it and keep up with my series. Things are (slowly) getting to the good parts! Do not forget to leave your kudos and your comments, they are essential to my creativity!


End file.
